Wheezie-Brain: What Dragon Tales Taught Me About Perseveration
In about my first or so year of living in the Tampa Bay Area, I would watch Dragon Tales almost after school.
Nothing beats a nice afternoon tuning into WEDU (Channel 3, the Tampa Bay PBS Member station upon which I’d also operate my SEGA Genesis and N64 consoles) after completing homework my special ed class gave me (which was BLISSFULLY MINIMAL, even for 10-year-old me) to learn of what adventures Max and Emmy would pursue with Cassie, Ord, and conjoined twins Zak and Wheezie.
And that - indeed - leads me to Zak and Wheezie.
The green half represents both my left brain, which is the saner half. My favorite character is the purple half, and she not only represents my right brain, but also my tendency to perseverate.
Temple Grandin - one of my influential autistic icons and co-author of Developing Talents: Careers for Individuals with Asperger Syndrome and High-functioning Autism - explained my several brushes with perseveration in childhood at best, “Often the person on the spectrum hyper-focuses on favorite subjects, talking non-stop about them and missing social cues from others to stop."
In other words, perseveration is when stressors like sensory overload and difficulties transitioning to another activity fuels an autistic individual's Wheezie-brain, enabling them to unleash their banter about special interests to mostly the annoyance of others. My Zak-brain - the saner left hemisphere - would want me to stay on task or be in the present.
But my Wheezie-brain would want me to release the tension built up via ennui, tedious tasks, or sensory overload by busting into discussion about my special interests. For others, talking about special interests at excessive lengths can be annoying. But for my Wheezie-brain, she "LLLLLLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVVVVVVVVVVVVVEEEEEEEEEEESSSSS IT!"
Perseveration had been my issue years before learning somewhat about it via relating myself to Dragon Tales. Days after disembarking the former cruise ship, Fun Ship Carnival Tropicale in September 1995, I talked to myself about Tropicana Lounge, though I wasn't aware of how audible me doing so was, before lunch in kindergarten.
My teacher caught me doing it, restrained me. She repeatedly said sternly, "NO TROPICANA LOUNGE. NO TROPICANA LOUNGE."
I fortunately didn't cry, and I would typically do once my teacher would restrain me. But I felt bad about it, wondering why before lunch wasn't the time to talk about the best part of my cruise. I didn't cry after the cruise either (I usually would after almost each vacation!), so the perseveration that rooted the "No Tropicana Lounge Incident" kept me sane, though it drove her NUTS.
1.5 years later, I was waiting at the bus stop. With me having PHYSICALLY returned to my former state of NJ from a kinda latent spring break in Florida, visiting my cousins in Thonotosassa with my late DGM and celebrating Walt Disney World's silver jubilee with my parents, my Wheezie-brain was still at Epcot.
I put it out there via talking to myself about Ellen's Energy Adventure, a revamp of Universe of Energy featuring Ellen DeGeneres and Bill Nye. (He was the reason why TV sets in the classrooms excite the peas out of me.) Again, I wasn't even aware of how loud I was.
My DGM stopped me, telling me to "Forget About Ellen." Once I boarded the small school bus, I spoke more further about neither Ellen's Energy Adventure, the rest of what I did at Walt Disney World, nor the rest of my spring break as I rode it.
Neither did I bring any of them up later that day at school to avoid another "No Tropicana Lounge Incident." On the flip-side, it broke my crying-after-a-vacation phase that would plague me as a kid.
Back to my first years in Tampa. Upon entering 5th grade as a mainstreamed autistic, I happened upon Classic Arts Showcase as well as Ovation TV. (Thank you, Time Warner Cable.)
Ovation TV pre-2010 or whereabouts was my fertilizer for my Wheezie-brain. Its contents include the 1997 performances of select Johann Sebastian Bach cantatas with the Amsterdam Baroque Orchestra under Ton Koopman; the late Sir George Martin's documentary series The Rhythm of Life; the South Bank Show episode on countertenors (which explains why Michael Chance is my favorite singer of this male singing range); and Beat Route, hosted by Squeeze's Jools Holland.
But the most potent contents that Ovation TV harbored were Howard Goodall docus. HOWARD. GOODALL. DOCUS. His Organ Works deepened my appreciation for organ music, and his singing voice was a treat to hear for this late-elementary-to-early-middle-schooler.
Goodall was one of my celebrity crushes in my tweens. At school, I would not only speak a bit like him, but also write a bit like him. (Hello, media-induced scripting!)
At Books-A-Million, I bought Phil Goulding's Classical Music: The 50 Greatest Composers and Their 1,000 Greatest Works at the tender age of 11. (Fortunately, my elementary school made Accelerated Reader and Star Assessment COMPLETELY optional at the time, so I had the freedom to read it as I pleased.)
Goulding's book - as well as the documentaries and concerts on TV - lead me to one phone call I made to one of my DUs about George Frederic Handel. My Wheezie-brain took on the reins once again. Towards the end, I lent the phone to DM, with her briefly ending the call.
She and my late DF discussed with me on how and why it was inappropriate for me to talk to him about classical music and how not everyone is interested in me talking at great length about it. They gently reprimanded me again talking to my cousins about classical music before a fishing trip.
It took me until my 20s to figure out why school wasn't the appropriate time to discuss my cruise vacation. Why talking about Ellen's Energy Adventure while waiting for the bus was a faux pas in front of my house. Why I felt bad for neither being allowed to talk to my DUs, DAs, nor my cousins about Francois Couperin.
Though I look back laughing at those moments in life and forgive my elders for annoying them with Tropicana Lounge or Handel, I learned that I was a victim of the Wheezie-brain-gone-wild, and that became what perseveration means to me and later fully comprehending it enough to get over that victim mentality.
Though I have my Wheezie-brain mostly under control, I wished my aides or coaches would've created perseverations lists as I grew up. It was an idea I conjured one day while listening to The Perfectionism Project episode, "3 Procrastination Tips That Don’t Work For Perfectionists," as I exercised via walking and circuit training.
The podcast was hosted by Sam Laura Brown, Aussie business coach, and she suggests creating a distractions list to help perfectionists curb their procrastination. She said, "This is where you create a list with all of the things you want to be distracted with as it happens. Every time I wanted to do something that wasn't what I planned to do, I would write down what it was."
Had I been a grade-schooler still living in NJ having been old (and tall) enough to experience that successor to Ellen's Energy Adventure at Epcot during a summer Walt Disney World vacay and STILL was in the perseveration phrase, I would’ve driven my teachers nuts. They would’ve said repeatedly to me, “NO GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY: COSMIC REWIND!” (Taken by yours truly, on my b-day, 6/12/2022)
Similarly, I wished my parents would've hired a life coach or a therapist who would've became one and had the coach observe and write notes on me self-talking about Tropicana Lounge or talking about Ellen's Energy Adventure while waiting for the bus. Or have the coach horn in on my conversation with cousins about Bach.
The coach would've discussed the notes she took about me perseverating with my parents, and he or she would've used it to prewrite social stories that would've explained more in depth about why I couldn't discuss with my DAs about the clarinet's role in an orchestra at times. They would include which times would've been appropriate to do that.
Or the coach would have me use the first-then system - with me doing the most tedious tasks first, then talking with them (within a time limit) about composers.
Again, the Wheezie-brain ended my tradition of post-vacation tears at 7. It also had me spend a WHOLE month in Europe (the cradle of classical music) on October 2015. For some of my autistic adult brethren, it became the basis of careers, as well as a few print-on-demand side hustles for me.
But I feel for many of my verbally autistic folks who still have Wheezie-brains running wild. Sharing my personal experiences having one myself can lead to workplace faculties and people who work with neurodiverse individuals collaborating on how to tame their Wheezie-brains and help them successfully obtain and retain their employment.
